THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


THE    INEVITABLE 

AND    OTHER    POEMS 


BY 

SARAH    KNOWLES    BOLTON 

Author  of  "Social  Studies  in  England"  "Stories  from  Life' 

"From  Heart  and  Nature"  (poems)  "Famous  Types 

of   Womanhood "    "  Famous    Voyages    and 

Explorers  "  "  Famous  Leaders  among 

Men"  etc.  etc. 


NEW  YORK:   46  EAST  I4TH  STREET 

THOMAS    Y.    CROWELL  &   COMPANY 
BOSTON:    100  PURCHASE  STREET 


Copyright,   1895 
BY  THOMAS  Y.  CROWELL  &  COMPANY 


pa 


To   THE    MEMORY   OF   Two   NOBLE    WOMEN 


JHartfja    SHebster 

AND 

JHattlla    Sopfjta    530lt0n 


904173 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE 

THE   INEVITABLE       ....  1 

TENNYSON 3 

THE   MOONLIGHT       ....  5 

WHAT   is   BEYOND  ?          .         .         .  6 

JAMES   RUSSELL   LOWELL         .        .  8 

A  CONTRAST 10 

A   QUEEN'S   UNDYING   LOVE    .         .  12 

THE  BATTLE   OF   CUZZOLA       .        .  17 

THE  LADY  KUKACHIN     ...  21 

GIORGIONE 24 

HENRY   HUDSON        ....  27 

LEAVING   ST.   PETERSBURG       .         .  31 

EASTER  HYMN 33 

HER   CREED       .  35 


vi  Contents. 

PAGE 

THE  UNFINISHED   STOCKING    .         .  37 
THE  TIDE   is   IN               .        .        .39 

NEVER   THE   SAME    ....  41 

CHANGE 43 

THE   FUTURE 45 

BLESSINGS   NEAR   AT   HAND     .         .  47 

FAITH 49 

FROM   LIFE 51 

BROKEN   MEASURES  ....  54 

THE   NEW   ERA         ....  57 

CHESTNUTS GO 

WHEN   CHESTNUTS   FALL  ...  61 

I   WONDER 63 

A  SUNSET  WALK     ....  65 

BECAUSE   I   LOVE  You  G7 

A   SONG 69 

MARBLEHEAD   NECK          ...  71 

A   SONG 73 

MY  ROBIN                 .  75 


Contents.  vii 

PAGE 

THE   COLORING   OF   THE   GRAPES     .  77 

ON   COLLAMER  HILLS       ...  79 

THE   BLOOMING   TIME       ...  81 

OUR  HORSE-CHESTNUT   TREES         .  83 

THE   TIME   TO   LOVE         ...  85 

NOT   FOR   OURSELVES        ...  87 

His   MONUMENT        ....  89 

MENCIUS 91 

Now 93 

BE  WHAT  THOU   SEEMEST       .        .  95 

AT   TWILIGHT 97 

Do  YOUR  WORK   EARLY  99 


POEMS. 


THE    INEVITABLE. 


I  LIKE  the  man  who  faces  what  he  must, 
With  step  triumphant  and  a  heart  of 

cheer ; 

Who  fights  the  daily  battle  without  fear ; 
Sees  his  hopes  fail,  yet  keeps  unfaltering 

trust 
That  God  is  God ;  that  somehow,  true  and 

just 
His  plans  work  out  for  mortals ;  not  a 

tear 

Is  shed  when  fortune,  which  the  world 
holds  dear, 

i 


The  Inevitable. 


Falls  from  his  grasp  :  better,  with  love,  a 

crust 

Than  living  in  dishonor  ;  envies  not, 
Nor  loses  faith  in  man ;  but  does  his 

best, 

Nor  ever  murmurs  at  his  humbler  lot, 
But,  with  a  smile  and  words  of  hope, 

gives  zest 

To  every  toiler  :  he  alone  is  great, 
Who  by  a  life  heroic  conquers  fate. 


TENNYSON. 


AT  dead  of  night, 

By  full  moonlight, 
A  stately  ship  sailed  out  to  sea, 
From  surge  and  tempest  free. 

She  carried  out, 

From  pain  and  doubt, 
A  soul  as  grand  as  earth  has  known, 
To  meet  its  own. 

He  lingered  long 

To  bless  with  song 

Nations  that,  yet  unborn,  shall  praise 
The  beauty  of  his  lays. 
3 


Tennyson. 

He  lived  and  loved, 

And,  dying,  proved 
How  greater  than  his  finished  line 
Is  man  :  well-nigh  divine. 

He  walks  no  more 

By  wood  or  shore, 
Along  the  dunes  of  Farringf ord : 
He  tarries  with  his  Lord. 


THE    MOONLIGHT. 


WHAT  is  the  moonlight  to  me  ? 

An  infinite  rest ; 
The  subtle  and  sweet  melody 

Of  song  unexpressed. 

What  is  the  moonlight  to  me  ? 

The  peace  of  a  river : 
Companionship  of  a  sea 

That  surges  forever. 

What  is  the  moonlight  to  me  ? 

Satisfaction  completest ; 
A  precious  and  dear  memory 

Of  all  that  is  sweetest. 

What  is  the  moonlight  to  me  ? 

A  tryst  and  a  union  ; 
A  promise  for  futurity  ; 

A  soulful  communion. 

5 


WHAT    IS    BEYOND? 


THE  blue  sky  and  the  blue  lake 

Meet  together 

In  sunny  weather, 
But  what,  oh !  what  is  beyond  ? 
I  know  this  side  the  horizon  line, 
With  its  purple  hillsides,  broad  and  fine; 
But  the  country  beyond  —  has  it  lakes  like 

ours, 

And  trees    of   grandeur,   and  fruits    and 
flowers  ? 

What,  oh  !  what  is  beyond  ? 

The  gray  sky  and  the  gray  lake 

Meet  together 

In  sombre  weather, 
But  what,  oh  !  what  is  beyond  ? 
6 


What  is  Beyond? 


I  know  these  homes,  with  their  loves  and 

woes, 
Their  buried  hopes  from  which  patience 

grows ; 

Are  these  broken  affections  united  there  ? 
Will   fruition   come   to    their    hope    and 

prayer  ? 

What,  oh  !  what  is  beyond  ? 

The  black  sky  and  the  black  lake 

Meet  together 

In  stormy  weather, 
But  what,  oh  !  what  is  beyond  ? 
I  know  the  currents  that  thrill  the  earth, 
And  flash  the  sky  at  the  thunder's  birth ; 
But  what  of  the  circuit  far  souls  between, 
And    the    central    power    in    the    Great 
Unseen  ? 

What,  oh !  what  is  beyond  ? 


JAMES    RUSSELL    LOWELL. 


THE  great  trees  murmur  at  the  midnight 
hour, 

The  birds  in  silence  wait ; 
A  soul  is  passing  to  the  Fount  of  Power  • 

Elmwood  is  desolate. 

Lover  of  nature,  lover  of  his  race, 

Learned  and  true  and  strong  ; 
Using  for  others  with  surpassing  grace 

The  matchless  gift  of  song. 

When  clouds  hung  darkest  in  our  day  of 

pain 

He  prophesied  the  light ; 
He  looked  adown  the  ages  for  the  reign 
Of  Brotherhood  and  Eight. 
8 


James  Russell  Lowell. 


Proud  of  his  country,  helping  to  unbind 

The  fetters  of  the  slave ; 
Two  worlds  their  wreaths  of  honor  have 
entwined 

About  an  open  grave. 

Great  in  his  simple  love  of  flower  and  bird, 

Great  in  the  statesman's  art ; 
He  has  been  greatest  in  his  lifting  word 

To  every  human  heart. 

He  lived  the  lesson  which   Sir  Launfal 
guessed 

Through  wandering  far  and  wide  ; 
The  giver  must  be  given  in  the  quest  — 

He  gave  himself  and  died. 


A    CONTRAST. 


Two  men  toiled  side  by  side  from  sun  to 
sun, 

And  both  were  poor ; 

Both  sat  with  children,  when  the  day  was 
done, 

About  their  door. 
One  saw  the  beautiful  in  crimson  cloud 

And  shining  moon ; 
The  other,  with  his  head  in  sadness  bowed, 

Made  night  of  noon. 

One  loved  each  tree  and  flower  and  singing 
bird 

On  mount  or  plain ; 

No  music  in  the  soul  of  one  was  stirred 
By  leaf  or  rain. 
10 


A   Contrast.  1 1 

One  saw  the  good  in  every  fellow-man, 

And  hoped  the  best ; 
The  other  marvelled  at  his  Master's  plan, 

And  doubt  confessed. 

One,   having  heaven    above    and    heaven 
below, 

Was  satisfied ; 

The  other,  discontented,  lived  ifi  woe, 
And  hopeless  died. 


A    QUEEN'S    UNDYING    LOVE. 


JOANNA,  daughter  of  the  noble  queen 
Whom  all  Castilians   worshipped,  whose 

white  hand 

Sent  out  Columbus  on  his  glorious  quest, 
Had  married  Philip,  of  the  Austrian  court, 
Gay,  brilliant,  handsome,  with  no  heart  of 

love 
For  her  who  reigned  beside  him. 

Like  a  child, 
Who,  in  its  helpless  fondness,  clings  and 

loves 

Even  the  hand  that  strikes  it,  so  the  queen 
Knelt  to  her  idol ;  sought  by  voice  and  eye 
To  know  his  every  wish;  thought  night 

and  day 

Upon  her  hopeless  love  and  loved  the  more. 
12 


A  Queen's   Undying  Lome.        13 


When  Philip  journeyed  into  other  lands, 
And  welcomed  beauty  from  a  thousand 

eyes, 

Joanna's  face  grew  pale  with  agony, 
And  never  brightened  till  she  followed  him, 
And  stood  beside  her  faithless,  recreant 

king. 
Broken    in  heart,   for  her   long-suffering 

child, 

Queen  Isabella  died,  and  Ferdinand 
Wept,  with  the  world,  for  her  who  well 

deserved 
The  homage  of  her  race. 

Then  Philip,  glad, 

In  youthful  pride,  sat  on  Castilian  throne, 
Sad-faced  Joanna  silent  at  his  feet. 
In    three    short    years  the  tragedy  was 

closed ; 
Philip,  at  twenty-eight,  lay  white  in  death. 


14        A   Queen's   Undying  Love. 


Joanna  thought  not  of  her  crown  or  child ; 
Like  a  fond  mother  whose  intensest  love 
Centres  in  one  who  passes  from  her  sight 
Unmindful  of  her  prayers  and  bitter  tears, 
So  the  young  queen  cared  only  for  the  lost. 
Like   one   benumbed   she  gazed  upon  his 

face; 

Shed  not  a  tear  while  coffin-lid  was  closed, 
And  he,  the  only  precious  thing  on  earth, 
Was  borne  away  forever.     Ah  !  not  so ; 
For  she  had  read  how  once  a  famous  king 
Had  come  to  life  through  love's  all-potent 

charm ; 
And  Philip  should  come  back,  and  death 

give  way 
Before  her  homage. 

To  her  queenly  bed 
She  brought  the  buried  king,  so  pale  and 

cold. 


A  Queen's   Undying  Lome.        15 


Should  not  love  warm  him,  make  his  heart's 

blood  flow  ? 
Should  not  her  eyes,  by  some  unconscious 

power, 

Unclose  the  eyelids  she  had  often  kissed  ? 
With  jealous  care  she  bent  above  her  dead, 
Allowing  none  to  touch  the  hallowed  form. 
Days   passed,   and  weeks,  but  Philip  an 
swered  not. 

A  little  child  was  born  beside  the  dead ; 
His  baby  Catharine,  but  he  did  not  see. 
Joanna  waited,  with  a  pallid  face, 
Till,  finally,  as  a  lamb  in  wind  and  sleet, 
Lost  from  the  flock,  lies  down  to  wait  the 

end, 

So,  covering  her  dead  from  mortal  view, 
She  sadly  waited  till  her  life  should  close. 
Years  came  and  went,  till  half  a  century 
Had   made  the  girlish  queen  gray-haired 
and  old; 


1 6        A   Queen's   Undying  Love. 


The  precious  coffin  never  left  her  side ; 

The  dead  was  Philip  still,  her  best  beloved. 

With  her  great  son,  the  Emperor  Charles 
the  Fifth, 

She  ruled  the  Spaniards,  loyal  to  their 
queen. 

They  pitied,  while  they  loved  and  rever 
enced, 

The  wife  and  yet  the  sovereign ;  proud  at 
heart 

That  Spain  could  show  a  woman's  death 
less  love. 


THE    BATTLE    OF    CUZZOLA. 


WITH  pennons  flying,  and  with  trumpets' 

blare, 

And  noise  of  pipes,  Venetian  galleys  swept 
Into  the  Adriatic,  Dandolo, 
In  stately  flagship  leading ;  Genoa, 
Proud,  hating  Venice,  eager  for  the  fight, 
Was  ready  when  the  Sunday  sun  should 

dawn, 
To  meet  the  foe;    on  came  the  brilliant 

fleet, 

The  morning  sun  bathing  them  all  in  gold, 
Hurling  their  crossbows  at  the  Genoese ; 
And  back  came  showers  of  arrows,  iron, 

fire-tipped, 


1 8  The  Battle  of  Cupola. 


To  blaze  among  the  rigging,  and  quick-lime 
To  blind  their  eyes  as  though  a  dagger's 

point 

Had  pierced  them ;  but  so  furious  the  at 
tack 

That  ten  brave  galleys  of  the  Genoese, 
All  red  with  gore,  were  captured. 

Doria, 

The  friend  of  Genoa,  famed  in  peace  and  war, 
Stood  watching  the  dread  conflict,  sick  at 

heart, 

That  Italy's  best  blood  was  spilled  in  vain. 
At  the  forecastle  stood  his  eldest  son, 
Octavian,  worthy  of  his  noble  line, 
Fearless  and  foremost  in  the  rain  of  spears ; 
When  lo !    an  arrow  entered  the  young 

heart, 

And,  horror-stricken,  every  face  grew  pale. 
What  need  to  battle  longer  with  the  foe  ? 


The  Battle  of  Cupola.  19 


But  Lamba  Doria  sprang  across  the  ship, 
And  raised  the  dead  young  soldier  to  his 

breast, 
Still  warm  beneath  his  armor :  "  Ah !  my 

son, 
If  thou  hadst  died  at  home  thou  couldst 

not  have 

A  burial  place  more  splendid  than  the  sea ;" 
And  pressing  close  the  one  he  idolized, 
He  cast  the  body  to  the  seething  waves, 
And  saw  it  sink  forever. 

Then  he  bade 
His  weeping  comrades  seize  their  spears 

again, 

And  fight  the  braver  for  Octavian's  death. 
Woe  turned  to  fierceness,  and  with  wildest 

zeal, 
And  recking  not  whether    they   lived  or 

died, 
They  slew  Venetians  till  the  sun  went  down. 


20  The  Battle  of  Cupola. 


Seven  thousand  men  were  captured  and  in 

chains ; 

Venice  was  humbled ;  one,  in  proud  despair, 
Her  leader,  Dandolo,  refused  to  live, 
And  ended  his  existence ;  Genoa  gave 
A  noble  burial  to  her  valiant  foe. 
The  battle  of  Cuzzola  conquered  peace 
Between  the  two  Eepublics ;  many  gifts 
Of  palaces  and  honors  for  his  line 
Were  given  Lamba  Doria,  but  his  gift, 
With  love  of  country  burning  in  his  heart, 
Exceeded  all  his  state  could  offer  him : 
The  life  of  his  beloved  Octavian. 


THE    LADY    KUKACHIN. 

(Tear    1291.) 


SAD  and  lonely  was  Arghun  Khan 
For  the  loss  of  Khatun  Bulughan, 

His  best  beloved,  who,  dying,  left 
A  tender  message  for  him  bereft, 

That  one  of  her  blood  should  fill  her  place, 
Pure  and  fair  from  the  Mongul  race. 

So  he  sent  his  courtiers  among  her  kin, 
And  they  chose  the  Lady  Kukachin, 

Gentle,  yet  able,  though  scarce  seventeen, 
Fit  to  rule  as  the  Persian  Queen. 


21 


The  Lady  Kukachin. 


Thirteen  ships  and  eight  hundred  men 
Sailed  from  a  port  in  Fokien, 

Bearing  the  bride  that  was  to  be ; 
For  two  long  years,  in  the  Indian  sea, 

Stopped  sometimes  by  the  deadly  breath 
Of  the  hot  monsoon,  they  sailed,  till  death 

Had  spared  but  eight  of  the  valiant  throng 
Who  started  gayly,  with  hope  and  song. 

Arghun  Khan  had  passed  away 
Before  his  bride  had  left  Cathay  : 

His  brother  reigned,  and  his  son  Ghazan 
Guarded  the  passes  of  Khorassan, 

With  sixty  thousand  of  Persia's  pride  ; 
Thither  they  brought  the  fair  young  bride. 


The  Lady  Kuhachin.  23. 


He  was  learned  and  noble,  and  fit  to  win 
The  hand  of  the  Lady  Kukachin ; 

So    with    music    and    dancing    she    wed 

Ghazan, 
Instead  of  the  gray-haired  Arghun  Khan. 

For  two  brief  years  did  the  sweet  girl-wife 
Brighten  the  courtly  Persian  life ; 

But  when  June  roses  began  to  fade, 
A  royal  and  costly  tomb  was  made, 

And  with  breaking  hearts  they  laid  therein 
The  beautiful  Lady  Kukachin. 


GIORGIONE. 

LONG  years  ago,  when  Venice  ruled  the  sea, 
Two  youths  together  lived,  and  worshipped 

art, 

Titian  and  Giorgione  ;  both  had  learned 
The  mastery  of  color,  and  one  sang 
Upon  the  lute  the  songs  his  poet-soul 
Wrought  out  in  measure,  sad,  intense,  and 

strong, 
Like  his  own  shadowed  life. 

Both  painters  loved, 

And  grew  diviner  by  the  power  which  love 
Alone  can  give ;  sweet  Violante's  face 
Lives  in  the  Sleeping  Venus  through  all 
time, 

24 


Giorgione.  25 

And  Giorgione  made  Cecilia  queen, 

And  gave  her  homage,  fervent,  true,  and 

deep. 
Without  her,  life  was   naught,  and  with 

her,  all. 
Work  was  but  pleasure  if   she  gave   it 

praise ; 
And  night  was  day  if  brightened  by  her 

smile. 

Morta  da  Feltri,  from  his  Eoman  home, 

Came  to  the  young  Venetian;  was  his 
friend, 

And  shared  the  comforts  of  his  generous 
board. 

Weeks  passed,  as  day  by  day,  in  friend 
ship's  guise, 

Morta  sought  entrance  to  Cecilia's  heart. 

He  too  had  found  the  idol  of  his  dreams ; 


26  Giorgione. 

He  too  had  seen  the  counterpart  of  soul 
That  makes  or  mars  forever  ;  so  he  took 
From  Giorgione's  roof  the  one  bright  thing 
That  was  his  life. 

The  painter's  lips  grew  still ; 
His  hands  refused  to  work,  the  power  was 

gone; 
Despair  made  havoc  with  the    youthful 

brain ; 

Death  came,  and  Titian  stood  alone  in  art. 
Venice  was  bowed  with  grief,  and  Morta 

fled, 

To  die  alone  on  Zara's  battle-field. 
What  of  Cecilia,   she  who  wrecked  two 

lives  ? 
Three  centuries  are  silent  of  her  fate. 


HENRY    HUDSON. 


(Summer  of  1611.) 


AT  daybreak,  on  the  frozen  Hudson's  Bay, 

Shut  in  from  mortal  view, 
The  ship  "Discovery"  at  anchor  lay, 

With  her  disheartened  crew. 


All  winter  long,  starvation  at  the  feast 

Had  been  a  constant  guest ; 
The  northwest  passage    to    the    favored 

East 

Seemed  like  an  idle  quest. 
27 


28  Henry  Hudson. 


They  murmured  at  their  leader,  brought 

to  feed 

The  fishes  of  the  deep ; 
And    murmuring   grew   to    hatred:    they 

decreed 
He  in  their  stead  should  sleep 

In  the  cold  waters  which  his  name  should 

bear  — 

His  monument  and  grave ; 
They  seized  and  bound  him  in  their  mad 

despair, 
And  none  was  near  to  save. 

Into  the  shallop  Henry  Hudson  stepped, 

His  darling  son  beside ; 
And  six  poor  wasted  seamen   near  him 
crept, 

To  stem  that  frozen  tide. 


Henry   Hudson.  29 


The  dawn  was  breaking  on  that  ice-clad 

world, 

When  drifted  out  to  sea, 
The   sport  of  icebergs,    by  the   currents 

whirled, 
That  starving  company. 

What  was  the  end  ?     Who  lingered  last 
of  all 

In  that  lone  voyage  of  death  ? 
Who  in  delirium  would  faintly  call, 

With  his  expiring  breath, 

For  wife    and    mother    on    the    English 

shore  ? 

Who  strain  his  glazing  eyes 
In  hope   of   succor  that   could  come   no 

more  ? 
Then  prays  and  faints  and  dies. 


30  Henry  Hudson. 


Their  noble  leader  gone,  the  murderous 

crew 

Set  sail  for  native  land; 
For     months     they     wandered,     growing 

gaunt  and  few 
From  want  and  savage  hand. 

At  last,  too  weak  to  steer,  their  vessel  ran 

Into  an  Irish  bay; 
Each  one,  unwelcome  to  his  fellow-man, 

Dishonored,  passed  away. 

And  when  the  ship  "  Discovery  "  was  sent 

To  learn  of  Hudson's  fate, 
Only  the  icebergs  heard  the  sad  lament 

Of  friends  who  came  too  late. 


LEAVING    ST.    PETERSBURG. 


UNFURL  the  sails,  put  out  to  sea, 
Farewell  to  fleet  and  gilded  dome ; 

Fair  Petersburg,  as  queenly  she, 
And  proud,  as  ancient  Rome.     • 

Built  on  the  wave  by  Peter's  hands, 
With  lives  he  counted  naught ; 

His  monument  to-day  she  stands, 
His  best  and  grandest  thought. 

Weighted  by  rule  of  Church  and  State, 

Yet  in  her  infancy ; 
A  century  shall  make  her  great, 

Her  press  and  people  free. 


32  Leaving  St.   Petersburg. 


Railways  shall  open  to  the  light 

Her  jewels  rich  and  old, 
Her  marble  and  her  malachite, 

Her  silver  and  her  gold. 

Open  your  doors  to  every  name, 
0,  mighty  Russian  throne ! 

That  land  is  greatest  which  can  claim 
The  world's  best  blood  its  own. 


EASTER  HYMN. 


Tune  —  "  Jerusalem,  the  Golden." 


0  GLORIOUS  Easter  morning  ! 

0  day  of  peace  and  light ! 
One  precious  name  adorning 

With,  lilies  pure  and  white. 
A  gladsome  message  bringing 

Of  love  that  knows  no  fear  ; 
The  sweetest  anthem  singing, 

"  The  risen  Christ  is  here." 

He  comes  with  gifts  of  healing 
For  wounded  hearts  that  moan  ; 

A  sunlit  path  revealing, 

A  world  with  pain  unknown. 

He  comes  with  life  eternal, 

With  hope,  and  joy,  and  peace  ; 
33 


34  Easter  Hymn. 

O  happiness  supernal, 

When  want  and  woe  shall  cease ! 

He  gave  His  life  for  others, 

Alike  for  you  and  me ; 
He  counts  us  as  His  brothers, 

All  one,  nor  bond  nor  free. 
The  bands  of  sin  are  broken; 

The  poor  and  the  oppressed 
Hear  the  sweet  gospel  spoken, 

"  Come  unto  me  and  rest." 

0  glorious  Easter  morning ! 

0  day  of  peace  and  light ! 
One  precious  name  adorning 

With  lilies  pure  and  white. 
A  gladsome  message  bringing 

Of  love  that  knows  no  fear ; 
The  sweetest  anthem  singing, 

"  The  risen  Christ  is  here." 


HER    CREED. 


SHE  stood  before  a  chosen  few, 
With  modest  air  and  eyes  of  blue ; 
A  gentle  creature,  in  whose  face 
Were  mingled  tenderness  and  grace. 

"  You  wish  to  join  our  fold,"  they  said 
"  Do  you  believe  in  all  that's  read 
From  ritual  and  written  creed, 
Essential  to  our  human  need  ?  " 

A  troubled  look  was  in  her  eyes  ; 
She  answered,  as  in  vague  surprise, 
As  though  the  sense  to  her  were  dim : 
"  I  only  strive  to  follow  Him." 

35 


36  Her  Creed. 

They  knew  her  life  ;  how  oft  she  stood, 
Pure  in  her  guileless  maidenhood, 
By  dying  bed,  in  hovel  lone, 
Whose  sorrow  she  had  made  her  own. 

Oft  had  her  voice  in  prayer  been  heard, 
Sweet  as  the  note  of  any  bird  ; 
Her  hand  been  open  in  distress  ; 
Her  joy  to  brighten  and  to  bless. 

Yet  still  she  answered,  when  they  sought 
To  know  her  inmost  earnest  thought, 
With  look  as  of  the  seraphim, 
"  I  only  strive  to  follow  Him." 


THE    UNFINISHED    STOCKING. 


LAY  it  aside  —  her  work  —  no  more  she 

sits 

By  open  window  in  the  western  sun, 
Thinking  of  this  and  that  beloved  one 

In  silence  as  she  knits. 

Lay  it  aside ;  the  needles  in  their  place  ; 
No  more  she  welcomes  at  the  cottage 

door 
The  coming  of  her  children  home  once 

more, 
With  sweet  and  tearful  face. 

Lay  it  aside  ;  her  work  is  done,  and  well ; 

A  generous,  sympathetic,  Christian  life ; 

A  faithful  mother  and  a  noble  wife  ; 
Her  influence  who  can  tell  ? 
37 


38          The   Unfinished  Stocking. 


Lay  it  aside ;  —  say  not  her  work  is  done 
No  deed  of  love  or  goodness  ever  dies, 
But  in  the  lives  of  others  multiplies : 

Say  it  is  just  begun ! 


THE    TIDE    IS    IN. 


THE  boats  lay  stranded  on  the  beach, 
Tangled  with  seaweed,  dank  and  green  j 
A  desolate  and  dreary  scene, 

Far  as  the  eye  could  reach ; 
The  tide  was  out. 

How  changed  the  view  when  day  was  done ; 
The  boats  rode  gayly  on  the  deep, 
Their  white  sails  nodding  as  in  sleep, 

Kissed  by  the  setting  sun ; 
The  tide  was  in. 

Thus  many  a  life,  in  want  or  woe, 
Lies  stranded  on  a  barren  shore ; 
But  God  is  God  f orevermore ; 
Take  courage,  for  we  know 

The  tide  comes  in. 
39 


40  The   Tide  Is  In. 


And  lifted  from  the  rocks  and  shoals, 
We  sail  upon  a  sunlit  sea ; 
Night  opens  on  eternity,  — 

Sweet  rest  for  weary  souls,  — 
The  tide  is  in. 


NEVER    THE    SAME. 


NEVER  again  the  same  rich  purple  sunset, 

Or  golden  afterglow; 
Never  again  the  same  sweet  day  of  summer 

Thy  life  shall  know. 

Never  again  the  same  rainbowed  illusions 
That  come  alone  to  youth ; 

Never  perchance  such  beautiful  ideals 
Of  love  and  truth. 

Never  again  the  same  transcendent  moment 
To  lift  by  kindly  word, 

Or  generous  act,  or  smile,   the  heart  of 
mortal 

By  sorrow  stirred. 


42  Never  the  Same. 


Never  the  same  inspiring  high  endeavor 

With  which  the  soul  is  rife ; 
Never  again  the   same    grand  wondrous 
journey 

Which  we  call  Life. 


Never  the  same  ecstatic  joy  of  loving 

The  human  or  divine : 
Then  seize  the  present  with  each  fruitful 
moment  — 

Naught  else  is  thine. 


CHANGE 


I  WATCHED  the  crocus,  purple,  white,  and 

yellow, 

Outbursting  in  the  spring ; 
The  snowy  air  grew  soft,  and  sweet,  and 

mellow, 
And  birds  began  to  sing. 

But  soon  the  crocus  faded,  and  I  sorrowed  ; 

When  lo !  the  tulips  came, 
Of  brilliant  red,  and  from  the  sun  they 
borrowed 

Their  glowing  hearts  of  flame. 

And  they,  too,  passed,  but  daisies  white, 

and  clover, 

Clustered  on  hill  and  moor ; 
43 


44  Change. 

And  clematis  and  roses  clambered  over 
The  homes  of  rich  and  poor. 

"Alas!"  I  said,  "this  earth  we  love  and 

cherish 

Will  fade  away  in  space." 
Take  courage,  heart!  we  change,  but  do 

not  perish, 
For  heaven  will  take  its  place. 


THE    FUTURE. 


I  CANNOT  know  when  grass  will  grow 

Above  my  grave ; 
What  friend  will  stand,  with  empty  hand, 

And  tears  to  lave 
The  daisies  fair  that  flourish  there  — 

I  love  them  best ; 
I  cannot  tell  if  hill  or  dell 

Will  give  me  rest. 

I  do  not  pine  for  marble  shrine 

Or  graven  stone, 
Or  fragrant  bowers  of  costly  flowers 

By  dear  ones  sown ; 
But  plant  a  tree  to  shelter  me, 

Of  nature's  green ; 
The  mountain-ash,  whose  berries  flash 

With  ruby  sheen. 
45 


46  The  Future. 

And  come,  sometimes,  when  sunset  chimes 

Their  chorus  ring ; 
And  with  the  birds  your  loving  words 

In  concert  sing. 
And  I  shall  hear  the  notes  of  cheer 

From  worlds  above ; 
For  heaven  is  nigh  to  those  who  die 

With  hearts  of  love. 


BLESSINGS  NEAR  AT  HAND. 


WE  look  too  far  for  blessings ; 

We  seek  too  far  for  joys ; 
We  ought  to  be  like  children 

Who  find  their  chiefest  toys 

Ofttimes  in  nearest  attic, 

Or  in  some  dingy  lane  ; 
Their  aprons  full  of  weeds  or  flowers, 

Gathered  in  sun  or  rain. 

Within  the  plainest  cottage 

Unselfish  love  may  grow ; 
The  sweetest,  the  divinest  gift 

Which  mortals  ever  know. 
47 


48         Blessings  Near  at  Hand. 


We  ought  to  count  our  joys,  not  woes ; 

Meet  care  with  winsome  grace ; 
For  discontent  plows  furrows 

Upon  the  loveliest  face. 

Hope,  freedom,  sunlight,  knowledge, 

Come  not  to  wealth  alone : 
He  who  looks  far  for  blessings 

Will  overlook  his  own. 


FAITH. 

IF  I  could  feel  my  hand,  dear  Lord,  in 
Thine, 

And  surely  know 

That  I  was  walking  in  the  light  divine 
Through  weal  or  woe ; 

If  I  could  hear  Thy  voice  in  accents  sweet 

But  plainly  say, 
To  guide  my  groping,  wandering  feet, 

"  This  is  the  way," 

I  would  so  gladly  walk  therein,  but  now 

I  cannot  see. 
Oh,  give  me,  Lord,  the  faith  to  humbly  bow 

And  trust  in  Thee ! 

49 


50  Faith. 

There  is  no  faith  in  seeing.     Were  we  led 

Like  children  here, 
And  lifted  over  rock  and  river-bed, 

No  care,  no  fear, 

We  should  be  useless  in  the  busy  throng, 

Life's  work  undone ; 

Lord,  make  us  brave  and  earnest,  true  and 
strong, 

Till  heaven  is  won. 


FROM    LIFE. 


THE  rich  man  sat  in  his  costly  store, 
After  the  work  of  the  day  was  done, 

Thinking  and  planning  with  eager  heart 
How  could  more  gold  be  won. 

Twilight  softened  the  city's  din, 

Lessened  the  crowds  along  the  street, 

Shaded  the  face  of  a  pale  young  girl, 
Who  passed  with  hurrying  feet. 

A  timid  knock  at  the  merchant's  door : 
"  Come   in ! "    with  a  cold,   ill-natured 
grace. 

"  I  read  that  you  needed  help,"  she  said, 
"  And  could  I  fill  the  place  ?  " 


52  From   Life. 

"  You  seem  too  young,  and  your  hands  too 

white ; 
You   have   worked   before    to-day,   you 

said. 
Has   your  life  been  right  and  free  from 

stain  ? 
No  sin  upon  your  head  ?  " 

"  I  am  well  and  strong  for  my  every  task, 
You  shall  find  me  honest,  and  just,  and 
true; 

The  past  is  buried  with  me,  and  God ; 
And  can  I  serve  for  you  ?  " 

"  A  woman  must  be  above  reproach, 
No  matter  what  she  has  power  to  be  !  " 

And  he  turned  the  door  on  the  trembling 

girl 
Into  that  human  sea. 


From  Life.  53 

The  years   went  by,  and  the   merchant's 
child, 

Grown  to  womanhood  fair  and  sweet, 
Trusted  and  nursed  with  her  virgin  soul 

A  viper  at  her  feet. 

The  rich  man,  broken  in  heart  and  home, 
Thought  of  the  girl  he  had  turned  away : 

"  I  would  she  might  come  again,"  he  said, 
"  For  my  heart  is  kind  to-day !  " 


BROKEN    MEASURES. 


BOY  and  girl  they  played  together, 

Pure  and  shy  of  speech  : 
She  as  fair  as  purple  heather 
Bending  in  the  summer  weather 
Far  as  sight  can  reach. 

Like  an  angel  to  his  vision 

Seemed  the  maiden's  face  ; 

Then  he  walked  in  fields  elysian, 

Thinking  in  a  sweet  revision 
Of  each  word  and  grace. 

Worship  is  not  always  spoken ; 

Love  is  often  dumb ; 
And  the  days  gave  her  no  token 
That  his  young  heart  would  be  broken 

Should  another  come. 


54 


Broken  Measures.  55 


Vows  were  said  for  woe  or  weal 
On  a  glad  spring  morn : 

Joy  that  was  complete  and  real  — 

Sorrow  for  a  lost  ideal  — 
In  two  hearts  were  born. 

Like  the  crescent  moon  she  lighted 

Up  one  lonely  way  ; 
Like  the  sun  her  rays  delighted 
One  —  the  other's  path  was  blighted 

Like  a  sunless  day. 

Life  is  full  of  broken  measures, 

Objects  unattained ; 
Sorrows  intertwined  with  pleasures, 
Losses  of  our  costliest  treasures, 

Ere  the  heights  be  gained. 

Every  soul  has  aspiration 
Still  unsatisfied ; 


56  Broken  Measures. 


Memories  that  wake  vibration 
Of  the  heart  in  quick  pulsation, 
At  the  gifts  denied. 

We  are  better  for  the  longing, 

Stronger  for  the  pain ; 
Souls  at  ease  are  nature  wronging ; 
Through  the  harrowed  soil  come  thronging 

Seeds,  in  sun  and  rain  ! 

Broken  measures  find  completeness 

In  the  perfect  whole  ; 
Life  is  but  a  day  in  fleetness  — 
Richer  in  all  strength  and  sweetness 
Grows  the  striving  soul. 


THE    NEW    ERA. 


IT  is  coming !    it  is  coining !     The  day  is 

just  a-dawning 
When  man   shall  be  to    fellow-man  a 

helper  and  a  brother ; 
When  the  mansion,  with  its  gilded  hall, 

its  tower  and  arch  and  awning, 
Shall  be  to  hovel  desolate  a  kind  and 
foster-mother. 

When  the  men  who  work  for  wages  shall 

not  toil  from  morn  till  even, 
With  no  vision  of  the  sunlight,  nor  flow 
ers  nor  birds  a-singing ; 
When  the  men  who  hire  the  workers,  blest 

with  all  the  gifts  of  heaven, 
Shall  the  golden  rule  remember,  its  glad 
millennium  bringing. 
57 


58  The  New  Era. 


The  time  is  coming  when  the  man  who 

cares  not  for  another 
Shall  be  accounted  as  a  stain  upon  a  fair 

creation ; 
Who  lives  to  fill  his  coffers  full,  his  better 

self  to  smother, 

As  blight  and  mildew  on  the  fame  and 
glory  of  a  nation. 


The   hours   are   growing   shorter   for   the 

millions  who  are  toiling, 
And  the  homes  are  growing  better  for 

the  millions  yet  to  be  ; 
And  the  poor  shall  learn  the  lesson,  how 

that  waste  and  sin  are  spoiling 
The  fairest  and  the  finest  of  a  grand 
humanity. 


The  New  Era.  59 


It  is  coming !    it  is  coining  !    and  men's 

thoughts  are  growing  deeper  ; 
They  are  giving  of  their  millions  as  they 

never  gave  before ; 
They  are  learning  the   new   gospel,  man 

must  be  his  brother's  keeper, 
And  right,  not  might,  shall  triumph,  and 
the  selfish  rule  no  more. 


CHESTNUTS. 


THREE  together  in  soft,  brown  nest ; 
The  prettiest  nest  that  ever  was  seen : 
Shut  in  a  ball  of  thorny  green, 

Close  and  warm  are  the  wee  things  pressed, 
Till  by  and  by  in  the  autumn  sun 
Four  petals  open,  and  one  by  one 

They  fall  on  a  cushion  of  leaves  below  : 
Ah  !  who  shall  tell  of  their  destiny  ? 
One  takes  root  for  a  stately  tree  ; 

One  squirrels  garner  before  the  snow ; 
And  one  is  the  gift  of  a  bright,  young  boy 
To  a  blue-eyed  maiden,  fair  and  coy : 
Each  has   its    place  —  who    shall    say 

which  is   best 

For  three  together  in  soft,  brown  nest  ? 
60 


WHEN    CHESTNUTS    FALL. 


WE  gathered  chestnuts,  you  and  I, 
Under  a  blue  and  cloudless  sky  ; 

The  brown  leaves  rustled  to  our  tread, 

The  brown  burrs  opened  overhead, 

When  chestnuts  fall. 

We  lingered  long  in  happy  quest ; 

The  sun  swept  down  the  glowing  west, 
Leaving  the  soft,  pink  afterglow 

On  tower,  and  tree,  and  vale  below, 
When  chestnuts  fall. 

What  matter  if  hands  touched  that  day, 

Under  the  leaves  where  chestnuts  lay  ? 
What  matter  if  love's  story  old 
By  heart  and  eye  anew  was  told, 
When  chestnuts  fall ! 
61 


62  Wlien   Chestnuts  Fall. 


We  wondered  what  the  years  would  bring, 
When  chestnut  burrs  were  opening 

In  other  autumns  —  you  and  I, 

Under  some  blue  and  cloudless  sky, 
When  chestnuts  fall. 


I    WONDER. 


HE  kissed  a  child  along  the  street — 
"  How  rich  and  full  is  life  to  me ! 
How  fair  is  every  flower  and  tree ! 

The  song  of  birds  is  doubly  sweet. 

"The  sky  is  bluer  overhead; 

My  heart  grows  tender  to  all  men;" 
A  smile  lit  up  his  face,  and  then, 

"  I  wonder  is  this  love  ? "  he  said. 

She  kissed  a  purple  cluster,  sweet, 
Culled  from  a  rich  wistaria  vine : 
"This    is    his    precious    flower,     and 

mine ; " 

And  passed  along  the  busy  street. 
63 


64  /   Wonder. 

"How  warm  the  sunlight  overhead! 
I  hear  soft  music  in  the  air, 
As  though  the  angels  called  to  prayer ; 

I  wonder  is  this  love  ? "  she  said. 


A    SUNSET    WALK. 


Do  you  remember 
That  sweet  September 

When  sky  was  golden  and  sea  was  blue, 
We  two  together 
In  love's  own  weather 

Walked  at  sunset  the  woodland  through  ? 

The  great  trees,  rifted 

With  sunlight,  lifted 
Their  sturdy  boughs  to  the  upper  air ; 

Each  vista  seeming 

Like  happy  dreaming 
Of  vales  in  Paradise  most  fair. 

65 


66  A  Sunset   Walk. 


The  birds  were  calling, 

And  nuts  were  falling 
From  squirrels  who  sprang  from  limb  to 
limb, 

While  over  the  bridges 

And  moss-green  ridges 
We  walked  together  till  twilight  dim. 

No  word  was  spoken 

That  could  betoken 
The  inner  thought  of  us  two  that  day. 

To  meet  and  sever  ! 

Ah  !  shall  we  ever 
Walk  again  in  the  dear  old  way  ? 


BECAUSE    I    LOVE    YOU. 

"  I  CANNOT  bring  you  wealth,"  she  said ; 
"  I  cannot  bring  you  fame  or  place 
Among  the  noted  of  the  race ; 
But  I  can  love  you, 

"  When  trials  come  to  test  you,  sweet, 
I  can  be  sunlight  to  your  feet ; 
My  kiss  your  precious  lips  shall  greet, 
Because  I  love  you. 


"When  daylight  dies  along  the  west, 
You  will  come  home  to  me  for  rest, 
And  I  shall  sleep  upon  your  breast, 
Because  I  love  you. 
67 


68  Because  I  Love    You. 


"  If  sickness  comes,  beside  your  bed 
I  will  bend  low  with  quiet  tread, 
And  pray  God's  blessing  on  your  head, 
Because  I  love  you. 

"  As  dew  clings  to  the  violet, 
Making  the  fragrant  chalice  wet, 
So  my  life  into  yours  is  set, 
Because  I  love  you. 

"  Only  myself,  my  all,  I  bring ; 
But  count  it,  sweet,  a  precious  thing 
To  give  my  life  an  offering, 
Because  I  love  you. 

"  I  bow  before  no  other  shrine ; 
If  I  go  first  across  death's  line, 
I  will  return  to  claim  you  mine, 
Because  I  love  you." 


A  SONG. 

IF  I  could  have  the  sunsets,  dear, 

And  have  you  too ; 
The  mellow  light  of  coming  night, 

And  have  you  too ; 

If  I  could  have  the  moonlight,  dear, 

And  have  you  too ; 
Its  loving  face  and  tender  grace, 

And  have  you  too ; 

If  I  could  have  the  song  of  birds, 

And  have  you  too ; 
The  quiet  nook  and  murmuring  brook. 

And  have  you  too ; 
69 


70  A  Song. 

Your  sympathy  and  cheering  words, 

Like  fragrant  flowers ; 
The  daisies  sweet,  beneath  our  feet, 

In  summer  hours ; 

Then  life  would  be  complete  for  me, 

A  cloudless  day ; 
Not  wealth  nor  fame,  but  one  dear  name 

To  bear  for  aye. 


MARBLEHEAD    NECK. 


THE   waves    beat  idly,   with  a  ceaseless 

roar, 
And  to  and  fro  the   seaweed  bends  to 

me, 
Kissing    the   great  red  rocks    along  the 

shore, 
But  thou,  beloved,  art  not  here  to  see. 

The  sun  goes  down  in  glory  in  the  west, 
Bathing   in  crimson   every   flower   and 

tree, 
The  white   sails  redden   on   the    ocean's 

breast, 
But  thou,  beloved,  art  not  here  to  see. 


7*  Marble  head  Neck. 


The  twilight  gathers  and  the  moon  rides 

high; 
I  watch  its  silver   track   and  think   of 

thee ; 
God  keep  thy  path  as  bright  from  earth 

to  sky, 
When  I,  beloved,  am  not  here  to  see. 


A    SONG. 

ALL  the  sky  is  blue  above  me, 

And  the  leaves  with  graceful  motion 

Bend  themselves  to  soothe  and  love  me; 
For  my  heart  is  on  the  ocean. 

And  the  moon  shines  out  so  clearly, 

Tenderly  my  woe  discerning 
For  the  one  I  love  most  dearly, 

And  to  whom  my  heart  is  turning. 

Tell  him,  stars,  my  thoughts  are  o'er  him ! 

Kiss  him,  winds,  in  sweet  devotion ! 
Murmur,  waves,  that  I  adore  him, 

That  my  heart  is  on  the  ocean ! 
73 


74  A  Song. 

Tell  him  time  nor  sea  can  sever 
Hearts  that  into  one  are  blended! 

Tell  him  love  is  love  forever, 
After  life  itself  is  ended ! 


MY    ROBIN. 


WHEN  I  was  a  child,  beside  our  door, 
In  a  green  and  spreading  sycamore 
There  sung  each   morning,  with   note   as 

clear 

As  a  crystal  brook,  and  full  of  cheer, 
A  robin. 

I  watched  his  plumage -in  childish  glee, 
And  fancied  he  sung  his  song  for  me; 
And   the    melody   lingers    in    heart    and 

brain, 

Making  me  often  a  child  again, — 
My  robin. 
75 


76  My  Robin. 

I  look  for  his  coining  in  early  spring, 
When  the  crocus  opens,  and  maples  bring 
Their  crimson  tassels  to  kiss  the  breeze, 
And  the  sunshine  dallies  with  new-leaved 
trees, — 

My  robin. 

I  hear  him  sing  as  the  sun  goes  down, 
And  the   stars   come   out  o'er   the  silent 

town ; 
But   there's   never   a   harsh  or   mournful 

note, 
That    wells    afresh    from     the    warbler's 

throat,  — 

My  robin. 

And  I  learn  a  lesson  of  hope  and  cheer 
That  carries  me  on  from  year  to  year ; 
To  sing  in  the  shadow  as  in  the  sun, 
Doing  my  part  till  the  work  is  done,  — 
My  robin. 


THE  COLORING  OF  THE  GRAPES. 


DAY  by  day  we  watched  them  taking  on 

the  purple, 
Toying  with  the   sunshine  in  a  golden 

mist, 
Sending  out  their  fragrance  with  a  royal 

bounty, 
Happy  in  their  beauty  simply  to  exist. 

Through    the   long,   dry   summer,   broad, 

green  leaves  had  shaded 
Tiny  growing  clusters  from  the  parching 

heat ; 
Gathering  from  earth  and  sky,  food   and 

air  and  moisture, 

Bathing  them  in  evening  dew,  thus  to 
make  them  sweet. 
77 


78       TJie   Coloring  of  the  Grapes. 


Ked  and  white  and  purple  globes  of  won 
drous  texture, 
Grown  and   sealed  and  colored  by  no 

mortal  hand ; 

Types  of  peace  and  plenty  —  nature's  per 
fect  working  — 

Blessings  on  the  vineyards  of  our  favored 
land! 


ON    COLLAMER    HILLS. 


TREE-COVERED    hills,  crossed  by   a  deep 
ravine ; 

Yonder  a  lake  of  blue, 
Shaded  to  crimson  hue 
When  rays  of  sunset  bridge  the  vale  be 
tween. 

i 

Then  stars  come  out,  led  by  the  crescent 
moon ; 

Afar  the  city  sleeps ; 

All  night  the  cricket  keeps 
Its  constant  monotone,  a  plaintive  croon. 

Then  morning  breaks  on  the  horizon  line  ; 

The  hill-tops  are  aglow  ; 

The  vineyards  purple  grow  ; 
The    dew-drops  like   a  million  diamonds 
shine. 

79 


8o  On   Collamer  Hills. 


Then  all  day  long  the  clouds  their  pictures 
trace 

On  broad  and  varied  sky ; 
The  weeks  slip  noiseless  by ; 
Ah !  life  is  sweet  with  nature  face  to  face. 


THE    BLOOMING    TIME. 


WHERE  do  you  hold  your  fragrance,  lilac 

buds, 

Set  in  your  leaves  of  green  ? 
The  air  is  burdened  with  your  rich  per 
fume, 
Entrancing,  yet  unseen. 


One  dreams  of  music  where  no  word  is 

sung, 

To  break  the  mystic  spell; 
The   shoreless   future   murmurs    in   one's 

ear; 

The  ocean  in  the  shell. 
81 


82  The   Blooming    Time. 


Nature  is  vocal  with  her  bursting  bloom ; 

Even  the  stately  trees; 
The  chestnuts   and  the  oaks   in   gladness 
swing 

Their  tassels  to  the  breeze. 


The  elms  are  covered  with  their   fleecy 
tufts. 

The  new  spruce  decks  the  old ; 
The  maples  drop  their  ruby  wings  upon 

The  dandelion's  gold. 

The    buttercups     lift    up    their     shining 

heads, 

The  earth  is  full  of  bliss ; 
The    roses    too     are    budding:    God     be 

praised 
For  such  a  world  as  this ! 


OUR  HORSE-CHESTNUT  TREES. 


WE  have  planted  on  our  hillside 

Three  graceful  chestnut  trees, 
Which  will   swing  their  pink-white  clus 
ters 

To  every  passing  breeze 
Long  after  he  who  gave  them, 

And  we  who  love  their  shade, 
Shall  be  on  yonder  hillside 

Among  the  silent  laid. 

Perhaps  beneath  their  branches 
Some  child  will  sing  at  play  ; 

Perhaps  some  lover's  tale  be  told 
Some  golden  autumn  day, 

83 


84         Our  Horse-Chestnut   Trees. 


When  the  grapes  are  growing  purple, 

And  the  far-off  lake  is  blue, 
And  two  are  enough  in  all  the  world,  — 

Forever  old,  yet  new. 

And  here  some  man  or  woman, 

White-haired  and  bent  with  age, 
When  the  moon  comes  over  the  hilltop, 

And  floods  the  closing  page 
Of  the  book  of  life,  near  finished, 

May  rest  in  well-earned  ease, 
And  thank  his  God  and  the  giver 

For  the  noble  chestnut  trees. 


THE    TIME    TO    LOVE. 


I  WATCHED  a  youth  and   maiden  by  the 

sea: 
The  white  foani  dashed  upon  the  rocks. 

in  spray, 
As   sportive  as  fair  children  at  their 

Play; 

It  kissed  her  cheek  and  brow,  from  care 

as  free 

As  birds  in  summer ;  smiling  tenderly, 
He  took  her  hand  in  his  in  manly  way. 
The  picture  lingered  with  me  many  a 

day: 

"  Youth  is  the  time  to  love,"  it  said  to  me. 
85 


"86  The   Time  to  Love. 


I  watched   them   later,   when  the  youth 

had  grown 

To  man's  estate,  and  little  ones  were  led 
By  gentle  hands;  her  face  with  gladness 

shone : 
"  Ah !  manhood  is  the  time  to  love,"  I 

said. 
Sweet  love!  without  thee  age  itself  were 

lone; 
Life  and  eternity  by  love  are  wed. 


NOT    FOR    OURSELVES. 


DOWN  to  the  Nile,  with  instinct  sure  and 

true, 
The  Egyptian  beetle  winds  its  measured 

way; 
There  lays  its  eggs,  and  in  the  moistened 

clay 

Enrolls  its  treasure ;  then,  as  if  it  knew 
The  widening  waters  to  a  deluge  grew, 
Braces  its  feet,  and  backward,  through 

the  gray 

And  slipping  sand,  to  safety  bears  away 
Its     still-increasing    burden;    and,    when 

through 

With  constant  labor,  dies,  content  to  see 
Another  life,  with  all  its  cares,  begun,  — 
87 


88  Not  for  Ourselves. 


Its  joys  and  hopes,  its  purposes  and 

fears. 
Not  for  itself,  but  for  its  progeny, 

It  has  unceasing  toiled  from  sun  to  sun, 
And  taught  its  lesson  through  a  thou 
sand  years. 


HIS    MONUMENT. 


HE  built  a  house,  time  laid  it  in.  the  dust ; 
He  wrote  a  book,  its  title  now  forgot ; 
He  ruled  a  city,  but  his  name  is  not 
On  any  tablet  graven,  or  where  rust 
Can  gather  from  disuse,  or  marble  bust. 
He  took  a  child  from  out  a  wretched  cot, 
Who  on  the  State  dishonor  might  have 

brought, 
And   reared  him  in  the  Christian's  hope 

and  trust. 

The  boy,  to  manhood  grown,  became  a  light 
To  many  souls,  and  preached  for  human 

need 

The  wondrous  love  of  the  Omnipotent. 
89 


9°  His   Monument. 


The  work  has  multiplied  like  stars  at  night 
When   darkness   deepens;    every  noble 

deed 
Lasts  longer  than  a  granite  monument. 


MENCIUS. 


THREE  centuries  before  the  Christian  age, 
China's    great    teacher,    Mencius,    was 

born : 
Her  teeming  millions  did  not  know  that 

morn 

Had  broken  on  her  darkness  ;  that  a  sage, 
Reared  by  a  noble  mother,  would  her  page 
Of  history  forevermore  adorn. 
For  twenty  years,  from  court  to  court, 

forlorn 

He  journeyed,  poverty  his  heritage, 
And  preached  of  virtue,  but  none  cared  to 
hear. 


92  Mencius. 

Life    seemed    a    failure,  like   a  barren 

rill; 
He  wrote  his  books,  and  lay  beneath 

the  sod : 
When  lo!   his   work  began;  and  far  and 

near 
Adown    the     ages     Mencius     preaches 

still:  — 

Do  thy  whole   duty,  trusting  all  to 
God. 


NOW. 

FORGET    the  past  and   live    the  present 

hour; 
Now  is  the  time  to  work,  the  time  to 

fill 
The    soul  with  noblest    thoughts,    the 

time  to  will 

Heroic  deeds,  to  use  whatever  dower 
Heaven  has  bestowed,  to  test  our  utmost 

power. 
Now   is  the  time  to   love,  and,   better 

still, 
To  serve  our  loved  ones ;  over  passing 

ill 

To    rise    triumphant;    thus    the    perfect 
flower 

93 


94  Now. 


Of   life  shall    come   to   fruitage ;    wealth 

amass 
For   grandest   giving  ere  the   time  be 

gone. 
Be  glad  to-day,  to-morrow  may  bring 

tears ; 
Be  brave  to-day,  the    darkest   night   will 

pass, 
And    golden    rays    will    usher    in   the 

dawn; 

Who    conquers    now    shall   rule  the 
coming  years. 


"BE    WHAT    THOU    SEEMEST." 


To  Tuscany,  upon  a  rocky  steep, 

To  build  a  home  among    the  beasts  of 

prey, 

St.  Francis  of  Assisi  came  one  day; 
And     when     his     weary     comrades     fell 

asleep, 

Leaving  the  saint  in  agony  to  weep 
Over    a     sinful    world,    so     prone    to 

stray, 
He    preached    to    birds    the   true    and 

living   way, 

Whose    tiny   hearts    with    joy    began    to 
leap. 

95 


96        "Be  What  Thou  Seemest." 

A    peasant    came,   and    meekly    reverent 

stood : 

"Art    thou    St.    Francis    of    Assisi?" 
"Yes." 

"Ah,   then,  take    heed,  and   be   in    truth 

as  good 

As  all  men  count  thee,  lest  their  faith 
grow  less; 

Be    what    thou    seemest,    without    vain 
deceit." 

St.   Francis  knelt   and  kissed   the   peas 
ant's  feet. 


AT   TWILIGHT. 


I    STOOD  at   twilight   by  the   shimmering 

lake, 

And    watched    the    shadowy,    autumn- 
tinted  leaves, 
Inverted,     swaying     in    the     evening 

breeze, 
And  the  red  tower  above  the  boat-house 

make 

A  picture  that  no  future  years  can  take 
From  out   my  memory;  shadows   such 

as  these  — 

The  beautiful  unreal  —  make  oases 
In    every    earnest    life :    we    dream    and 
wake 

97 


98  At    Twilight. 

To  nobler  duties  from  such  times  of   rest : 
Earth     seems      a    paradise     reflecting 

heaven ; 
Love  floods  the  soul  with  colors  richer 

far 

Than  even  nature  in  the  glowing  west; 
The  hopes  of  youth  come  back;   new 

strength  is  given, 

As  through  the  twilight  breaks  the 
evening   star. 


DO    YOUR    WORK    EARLY. 


BESIDE   my  window,  in  the  early   spring, 
A  robin  built   her  nest  and  reared  her 

young; 
And  every  day  the  same  sweet  song  she 

sung 

Until  her  little  ones  had  taken  wing 
To  try  their  own  bird-living;   everything 
Was  done  before  the  summer  roses  hung 
About    our    home,   or    purple    clusters 

swung 

Upon  our  vines  at  autumn's  opening. 
Do  your  work   early  in  the  day  or  year, 
Be  it  a  song  to  sing,  or  word  to  cheer, 
99 


zoo          Do    Your   Work  Early. 


Or  house  to  build,  or  gift  to  bless  the 

race; 
Life  may  not    reach  its    noon,  or  setting 

sun; 
No    one    can    do    the    work    you    leave 

undone, 
For  no  one  ever  fills  another's  place. 


This  book  U  DUE  on  the  last 
date  stamped  below. 


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